Ignite
by OpheliaBleeds
Summary: SLASH. Remus Lupin discovers that sometimes it is merely the aftermath of the fire that burns...


Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me, they all belong to J K Rowling.  
  
Author's Notes: I had an urge to write Sirius, and I couldn't. I really really tried, but Remus ended up being the one who tells this story.   
  
Dedication: This is dedicated to Natasha, for sharing the Harry Potter slash obsession, Happy Birthday!  
  
******  
  
Sometimes it is merely the aftermath of the fire that burns you, inside and out. The flame leaping and twisting, gut wrenching in its agony, eternally engulfing all that is /you/ and taking in every feeling of hope or joy, leaving only nightmares.  
  
And memories.  
  
Perhaps I am simply feverish, an illness brought on by lack of sleep. Delusions and nightmares visiting me all through the darkness until to wake is a blessing, even if it means that I must remember all that was past, all that was locked away inside.   
  
I shiver, trembling, although I feel as if I am burning, as if to look at me you would not see Remus Lupin. You will not see a werewolf in human guise, oh no, you will see a flame, burning brightly and casting light about these shabby rooms.  
  
It has been three years now, three whole years since he was so cruelly snatched from me. A killer? No, never that. A lover, a friend, a confidante but never, never a killer. I still cannot believe that he would do such a thing but I was not that one that judged, I was not the one that condemned him to the darkest pits of Azkaban. He will never return, I used to think that he could, that we could be as young and carefree as we once were, thinking that love would be enough to save us.  
  
I am not such a fool now.  
  
It has been three years since his last touch, and still it burns, an invisible branding that throbs - intensified by loneliness. I can still /feel/ where his hand last brushed mine, the path that his lips traveled, a brush of his leg burns with an intensity that belies the casual touch, and where we were once joined is... ignited. Perhaps to kill the fire, to extinguish all memories of the flame I should forget, but how can I do so when my body writhes with remembrances of every fleeting contact.  
  
The flames in my hearth place flicker, dancing and entwining, beautiful in their intensity, burning themselves out with every flickering movement that they make. Then simply, gone. Into nothingness, oblivion perhaps.   
  
Oblivion would be preferable to this. I wish that I could feel nothing: no burn, no pain, not utter desolation. We were supposed to have lasted forever, supposed to have been eternal, but it was taken, everything that I could ever have hoped for extinguished by that cruel twist of fate.  
  
Involuntarily my hands reach inside my robes, thumb caressing the edge of the photo, roughened by years of touching, fingers tracing the path along the body that I know so well. I throw it into the fire - sacrifice to the Gods, let flame consume him, rid me of the memories, of the dreams, of the eternal burning as my body remembers his touch that I /must/ forget.  
  
The photo stares at me still, images of Sirius smirking, sheets entangled around him as he beckons to me, nervous behind the camera.  
  
The edge ignites but I am unable to watch, unable to witness the symbolic burning of my lover. My hand reaches out suddenly, pulling it out of the flames, caught up in the dark dark eyes still /almost/ looking at me with that lust and utter adoration.  
  
Oh I burn, still held in the gaze as tears roll down my cheeks, streaking soot on them as I brush the moisture away with a careless hand. The ashes of the burnt corner cling to my fingers as I crush them suddenly, idly watching as the grey floats to the ground.  
  
ashes to ashes  
  
They lay still finally, and I am not released, the burn of my fingers a welcome relief - a literal pain to block out the fierce heat of remembered lust, of invisible bonds still inescapable. I watch the play of the ashes as they settle, laying still finally, flat against the ground. Not stirring, remaining unmoving, silent as the grave.  
  
dust to dust  
  
  
*fin*   
  
  
  



End file.
